


A Tale of Two Tails

by Alexis_Rockford



Series: Fictober 2018: 31 Fandoms in 31 Days [30]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: AO3 FACEBOOK CHALLENGE, AO3 FB Challenge, AO3 Writers Facebook Group, AO3 Writers Facebook Group Monthly Challenge, Attempt at Humor, Banter, Canon - Movie, Fictober, Gen, Pre-Canon, Pre-Season/Series 01, Spies & Secret Agents, Surprise Ending, Surveillance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-11 01:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16466414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexis_Rockford/pseuds/Alexis_Rockford
Summary: When Illya is assigned his first mission sans Napoleon, he gets more than he bargained for. Meanwhile, Solo attempts tailing a suspicious person lurking outside U.N.C.L.E. HQ.  Takes place just before season 1.This ficlet was written in response to the Fictober prompt for October 30, 2018: Alley





	A Tale of Two Tails

Illya was determined not to botch this assignment. He was still relatively new to U.N.C.L.E.; his defection from the KGB still fresh in the administration's mind. So when Mr. Waverly had offered him the opportunity to surveil a known arms dealer, he had leapt at the chance. He was still young in the spy business and eager to prove his loyalties to his new country. He exited Del Floria’s tailor shop casually as though he were any other departing customer and took a hard right, heading for the parking garage at the end of the block. Just before he got there, he ducked into the alley between the large, concrete building and the row of decrepit brownstones that the agency let out to unsuspecting tenants as a part of their elaborate front.

He could see his quarry as soon as he made the turn. Pressing his back to the side of the apartment building, he placed a reassuring hand on the handgun in his suit coat, making sure that the safety was off and the weapon was ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

The arms dealer, who was also a suspected T.H.R.U.S.H. agent, was standing nonchalantly at the end of the alleyway. The fedora pulled down low over his eyes belied a sinister looking brow and handlebar mustache. Illya ducked and prepared to wait his opponent out.

Meanwhile, Solo glanced at his wristwatch and surreptitiously surveyed the corner of the building he was monitoring. A suspicious character had been seen prowling around HQ over the past few days, and he had taken it upon himself to figure out if the intruder was a threat or not. A slight metallic noise nearby caused his nerves to stand on end. He tossed a brief glance over his shoulder and saw the tip of a well-polished shoe peeking out from behind a trash can. Frowning grimly, he darted around the corner and crouched behind a well-manicured bush. He desperately hoped the interloper hadn’t seen him.

Illya’s arms dealer seemed to be impatient for his client to arrive. The blond spy sighed and prepared for a long stake-out. Suddenly, he heard a muffled sound and turned his head. An alley cat slinked out of its hiding place and gave him a plaintive mew. Illya tried in vain to shush the cat until it wandered off in search of food. When he turned his head back to his prey, the arms dealer was gone. Cursing under his breath in Russian, he carefully sneaked toward where he had last seen the culprit.

Solo, from his spot in the bush, could see the traffic picking up on the street behind him. He tried to block out the city noise and perked his ears toward the alleyway he had just left. His pulse sped up a little as the sound of approaching footsteps reached his ear. Stealthily, he reached for his pistol and peered back around the corner. As he did, he was alarmed to note the barrel of an identical gun had been pointed at his face.

“Fancy meeting you here,” quipped a low voice with a soft foreign accent. A hand reached out and yanked him back into the alley before anyone could see their ridiculous showdown.

“Illya,” Solo returned sheepishly. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“I could ask you the same question.” Illya reached over and unceremoniously ripped off Napoleon’s fake mustache.

“Ow,” protested his partner. “I was investigating the mysterious character that was skulking around HQ.”

“Oh, you mean the T.H.R.U.S.H. arms dealer that I was supposed to be tailing?” Illya spat in disgust.

“Oops,” muttered Solo, re-holstering his pistol.

“Da, ‘Oops,’” mocked Illya with undisguised disdain. “Did you even think of checking in with me before heading out on this fool’s errand? We’ve been partners for a while now. When are you going to start trusting me?”

Napoleon gave him a one-shouldered shrug. “I’m a thief. Trust doesn’t come easily to me.”

“ _Ex_ -thief,” Illya corrected. “And I was a lot of things in my past life, too. None of them pleasant. The point is, that’s all behind us now. Or at least it _should_ be.”

Solo gave him a reluctant nod. “You’re right. Friends?” He gazed at Kuryakin with a childlike hope in his deep brown eyes.

“Let’s stick to partners for the time being,” Illya replied with a wry smile.

“Deal,” Solo said firmly, and they shook on it. A mischievous twinkle in his eye triggered Illya’s defense mechanisms, but he needn’t have worried. “What do you say we mosey on back to the ranch, Pardner?” Napoleon drawled in a singularly unconvincing Texas accent.

“Americans,” Illya responded with an exasperated sigh. And the two of them rode off into the sunset together -- or at least back to HQ. Partners, indeed, as they would continue to be for many further adventures to come.


End file.
